


Chasing Sleep

by RaeDMagdon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fingering, Fluff, Gentle, Hurt/Comfort, Lexa's birthday, Sleepy Sex, Vanilla, but obviously AU Canonverse, canonverse, emotional Clarke, service top Lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 00:23:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11368716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: Most lovers think destiny has brought them together, but Clarke knows better. She and Lexa have fought against destiny every step of the way, refusing to surrender. (Written for Lexa's birthday.)





	Chasing Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Please follow me @raedmagdon if you haven't already.
> 
> It's Lexa's birthday today and I caught feelings.

For Clarke, sleep never comes easily.

Some nights, it’s because she misses the stars. She misses the quiet hum of engines. She misses the low sound of her father’s voice after she’s gone to sleep, murmuring to her mother in the next room. She misses pressing her hand against reinforced glass and gazing down at Earth, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, but full of potential and possibility. Back then, it had been a paradise in her mind, almost close enough to touch, but so far out of reach.

Some nights, the screams keep her awake. Screams of the dead and dying, children wailing in her ears so they won’t be forgotten. She feels hot rivers of blood pulsing through her fingers, smells cooking flesh beneath flakes of smoky ash. Wild eyes watch her in the dark, pleading for help she can’t give. Even curled in a ball under the covers, knees to chest, hands over ears, she feels them surrounding her—within her. Some part of her knows the ghosts will never go away.

But on other nights…

On other nights, on  _ most _ nights now, Clarke lies awake without nightmares or longing. Instead, she stares at the woman slumbering beside her and thinks.

She thinks about how impossible these quiet moments would have seemed to her only a short time ago. Coming to Earth, meeting Lexa, falling in love; the betrayal, falling out of love; wandering around as a broken beast in the woods only to be dragged back to the last person she wanted to see… and, finally, falling even more deeply, because no matter how bitterly cold her anger burned, Lexa’s quiet, persistent, selfless love had been strong enough to thaw the ice.

It’s a series of events that should not have happened. And yet, somehow, it  _ has _ happened. She and Lexa are here, alive, together—even though what felt like the whole world had fought to keep them apart. Most lovers think destiny has brought them together, but Clarke knows better. She and Lexa have fought against destiny every step of the way, refusing to surrender.

Beside her, Lexa stirs. Her lashes flutter once, twice, and then her eyes open. When they find their focus, Lexa’s lips spread in a soft smile.

“Chasing sleep again, niron?” That’s what Grounders call insomnia: chasing sleep, like it’s something to be hunted and caught.

Clarke rolls onto her side, snuggling closer. She rests her forehead against Lexa’s, letting the warmth of her lover’s breath caress her cheek. “No. Just thinking.”

“About?”

That is a difficult question to answer. Clarke knows Lexa would understand—Lexa understands her like no one else—but she struggles to find the words. How can words express everything her heart is holding? She has used words to end wars, and yet, gazing into Lexa’s eyes, they feel hollow. Insufficient.

“You,” she says at last.

Her face must say something of what she can’t, because Lexa strokes her arm, then the side of her cheek. Something silent passes between them, pressing in around their hearts. Clarke knows that both of them are remembering this moment, promising to keep it safe.

“I think of you every moment of every day.”

Clarke knows it’s true, because so does she. Even when she and Lexa are busy serving their people, they are connected: sometimes apart, but never alone.

But now, they don’t even have to be apart. They don’t have to talk, either. Their understanding is deeper than whispers in the middle of the night. It’s shared with a look, a touch, a lingering kiss.

Clarke is always surprised by the soft heat of Lexa’s mouth. It’s not her lips, which are lovely and full, or her tongue, which knows how to be both coaxing and demanding. It’s how Lexa kisses her: gently, like it’s the very first time all over again.

She knows why, too. Lexa is gentle by nature. The cold, ruthless Commander is a role she has to fight against herself to fill. And yet, she is strong, so strong that she has changed the very definition of what  _ Heda  _ is and should be, like water carving through a rock nothing else can break.

That same gentleness was Clarke’s undoing, as well as her salvation. It rocks her foundations even now, but she is not afraid of crumbling. She shifts onto her back, pulling Lexa on top of her and wrapping a knee around her waist.

Lexa makes love to her like an artist. Every stroke of her hand, every grasp of her fingers, every glide of her lips is planned, deliberate. And yet, something about her is so open and aching and raw that Clarke knows she is being completely unrestrained. Lexa may be careful with her touches, but she isn’t the least bit guarded with her love. It radiates from her, lighting her face even in the nighttime shadows.

Clarke can only hope that her face shows the same light, because Lexa is more than deserving. Lexa is worthy of everything she has to give and more.

Wrapped in comforting darkness and Lexa’s slender arms, Clarke’s body blossoms open. Heat spreads between her legs as Lexa drinks from her lips, caressing her curves, relearning the landscape of her body. Lexa already knows it by heart, but she seems to find fresh wonder in it anyway, because she takes her time.

Clarke tries to keep up, running her hands along Lexa’s narrow back, tracing the wings of her shoulderblades and the familiar lines of her tattoo. She has memorized every shape and scar. Only when Lexa’s mouth drifts downward to tease the hardened tips of her breasts does Clarke grasp her hair instead. It falls loose through her fingers, free of its confining braids, and Clarke remembers the night Lexa first came to her as herself—wrapped in a black nightgown and bleeding from painful black bruises.

She had almost lost herself that day without even realizing it.

When Lexa’s fingertips find her, Clarke shudders with relief. Each touch is her ruin and her rebirth, the end of an I and the start of an us. She is more than Clarke Griffin, more than Wanheda. She is Lexa’s, and Lexa is hers. To prove it, she brings her left hand between their bodies, to take as she is being taken.

She will never take for granted the way Lexa clenches around her, as if to never let her go. She will never take for granted the security she feels as Lexa’s fingers curl within her, searching for the sensitive spot she knows so well. This moment, like so many others, should never have happened, and yet it has—and all the ways in which Clarke loves Lexa come pouring out.

Their rhythm makes them one—slow, but deep and desperate. Clarke can feel Lexa’s forearm working between her thighs, Lexa’s warmth spilling over into her hand. Both of them have drifted through the universe alone for what feels like so long, but now, they are together. They have joined to make something beautiful.

The end comes too soon, but as always, it is inevitable. Clarke cannot fight against Lexa’s river—it has carved a groove so deep within her that the shape of her has changed. She surrenders softly, gasping, as Lexa sucks her tongue and massages her shivering walls. For a few seconds, she’s weightless, at home among the stars again.

Her release is Lexa’s as well. A moment later, Clarke feels the coiled body above hers stiffen and start to shake. She pushes deep, past the burn into her wrist, until the wetness welling from Lexa’s core becomes a flood. Lexa’s eyes remain open the entire time, hooded but fixed, so Clarke can see everything that passes through them. Lexa’s softness is her strength, and her strength is her softness.

When the tears fall, Clarke isn’t sure whether they’re hers or Lexa’s. Both of them cry sometimes, but it’s never sad, so neither of them speak of it. They don’t need to. They’re simply grateful to have someone they can cry with.

Lexa settles on top of her without withdrawing her fingers, and Clarke welcomes her weight, folding her in with a curved arm around her waist. She traces spirals and hearts over the small of Lexa’s back, enjoying the shivers they earn. Lexa nuzzles into her neck, blowing her hair aside to kiss the spot behind her ear.

“Will you sleep now?” she whispers.

Clarke nods yes, closing her eyes. She can already feel exhaustion creeping in. Aside from physical need, there is one very good reason to fall asleep. When she does, she will awaken to the gift of sunlight pouring onto Lexa’s golden skin. She will get to remember how lucky she is all over again. She will kiss her beloved awake and watch the love that blooms on Lexa’s face as she realizes the same thing.

She will always want more of their impossible mornings, because they are real, and Lexa is truly hers.


End file.
